


a story being told

by Selkit



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Storytelling, a little bit at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8138999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: Velanna learns a nugget of information about Nathaniel's past. It goes about as well as one might expect.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityfails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityfails/gifts).



> Thanks to Jjeriko for the beta!

It was to no one’s surprise that Sigrun spent much of her free time wandering the Keep’s orchards, gardens, and forests. At first, the housekeeping staff grumbled just below earshot when she cheerfully tracked mud throughout the hallways, burrs clinging to her trousers and bits of grass dropping from her pigtails, but she always joined in the cleanup with such enthusiasm that the complaints soon dissipated. Before long, it wasn’t unusual to see her striding briskly through the grass with sweet fruit tarts stuffed in each hand, surreptitious gifts from the kitchen crew, and straggling lines of birds often hopped along behind her, pecking up the crumbs left not-so-accidentally in her wake.

“You stuff those birds so full of human food,” came an acerbic voice from the sky, “it’s a wonder they don’t starve to death when you’re away from the Keep.” 

Sigrun tipped her head back, scanning the tree branches overhanging the path until she spotted Velanna. The elf had turned her nose up at the Warden-issued blue and silver uniform, claiming an ill fit, slipping back into her well-worn Dalish garb at the first opportunity. The muted greens and browns blended in with the springtime leaves, nearly hiding Velanna from view. Only the sun-glint on her shock of blonde hair was impossible to camouflage, giving her away. 

“I don’t feed them _that_ much.” Sigrun grinned, pinching off a piece of pie crust and crumbling it between thumb and forefinger, scattering it to the wind. The birds squawked and fluttered behind her, fighting for the biggest pieces.

Velanna made a noise like a boot squelching into thick, dark mud. “Just wait until your next Deep Roads mission. You’ll return to find scrawny bird corpses littering the grounds.”

“Cheerful and optimistic as always, I see.” Sigrun smirked upward, shading her eyes against the dappled sunlight pushing its way through the forest canopy. She loved the sunlight, but it still took some getting used to at times. The same could be said of Velanna, really. “Wanna come down and walk with me? You don’t have to feed the birds if you don’t want.”

She stifled her grin from spreading further when Velanna hopped down from the tree with no further comment. For all her well-cultivated derision, it had almost become a ritual of sorts with them. Sigrun drew a wrapped pastry from the pack at her belt, handing it over.

“Blueberry,” she said with just a touch of satisfaction. “Your favorite.”

Velanna grunted, and Sigrun knew it meant _thank you._ Or at least she liked to think so. 

They walked without speaking for a time, nibbling at the pastries in companionable silence. If Velanna let a few pieces of crust drop to the ground for the birds, Sigrun was careful to take no notice. 

They reached the edge of the trees and walked down a gentle incline toward a small clearing, and the distant rumble of deep voices in conversation grew louder, startling the birds into flight. Velanna swallowed her last mouthful of blueberries and flaky crust, glaring down the pathway. 

Sigrun peeked at her expression and hid a smile. To most, Velanna’s face appeared etched in the same permanent scowl, no matter the date, time, or circumstances. Sigrun knew better. Velanna had a _multitude_ of scowls in her arsenal, ranging from mild annoyance to scathing outrage. Distinguishing between them all was an art of sorts, and most people lacked that kind of patience. Or simply refused to care. 

This rendition of a glare, she knew, was reserved for one human in particular. 

Sigrun licked the last traces of crumbs and raspberry jam from her fingers. “Hey,” she piped up, bright and casual. “That sounds an awful lot like Nathaniel’s voice, doesn’t it? Wanna go say hello?” 

She followed the words with a brief, teasing-but-pointed elbow to Velanna’s ribs, bursting into giggles when Velanna leapt straight up in the air like a startled cat. Sigrun half-expected the feathers on her tunic’s shoulders to bristle and stand up on end. 

“ _Must_ you?” Velanna huffed, pressing her hand to her ribs in a wounded fashion even though Sigrun had barely nudged her. “Why in the Creators’ name would I want to go talk to him?”

“I dunno.” Sigrun shrugged. “Same reason you stare at him across the room when you think no one’s looking?”

“I do not—” The automatic denial was halfway out of Velanna’s mouth when she stopped short, shooting an incredulous look down the pinched bridge of her nose. “Have you been _spying_ on me, dwarf?”

“Aha!” Sigrun beamed up at her. “You admit it, then!” 

“What? I didn’t say that.” Velanna released a sigh exaggerated enough to make the low-hanging leaves quiver in protest. “You’re almost as insufferable as he is.”

“Oh, I know.” Sigrun reached out and wrapped her fingers around Velanna’s wrist, pulling her gently but resolutely down the path. “Come on, you don’t fool me.”

Velanna’s growled protests pinged off Sigrun’s shoulders like balls of hail off her armor, but her lack of resistance told the true story. As they rounded the corner and Nathaniel came into view, her mutters faded into mutinous silence. 

“You could at least let go of my arm,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

“Oh, right.” Sigrun loosened her fingers. “Force of habit, I guess.” 

“As though I’m a mere ill-behaved child that has to be tugged along on a harness—”

“Hi, Nathaniel!” Sigrun said loudly, with a smile to match. “How are you today? Sorry to interrupt your conversation. Velanna and I were just out for a walk and thought we’d come say hi.” 

She crossed one arm behind her back to give Velanna a subtle pinch. The gesture was, unsurprisingly, ignored. 

Equally unsurprising was the way Nathaniel’s face warmed as he looked back and forth between the two of them. For all the Keep’s gossip about his stony and brooding nature, he really could be quite personable when he so desired. Especially when Velanna was around. 

“Sigrun,” he greeted. “Velanna. No apology necessary. It’s a pleasure to see you both.” 

This time Velanna twisted away from Sigrun’s pinch, emitting only a muffled grunt.

Nathaniel didn’t seem fazed. He gestured to the elf beside him, a wizened man with a kindly expression and hands gnarled from years of labor. He looked familiar, but Sigrun couldn’t quite place his name. 

“This is Samuel,” Nathaniel said, settling that question. “He was my family’s groundskeeper back...when the Howes still lived here. I haven’t seen him in many years, so we were just exchanging tales of old times.”

“Ooh!” Sigrun rocked up on the balls of her feet, clasping her hands. “I love stories! And so does Velanna.” She sent a sly grin in Velanna’s direction, then looked to Samuel. “Hey, if you knew Nathaniel when he was a kid, I bet you have some funny stories to tell about him, right? Embarrassing childhood mishaps? Fancy parties gone wrong? He can’t always have been so straitlaced.” 

Samuel gave a leathery chuckle, but the look he sent Nathaniel was fond. “Well, the young master was sent to squire in the Free Marches when he was just barely a man, so that put an end to the tales I was able to personally witness. However, we did still receive our share of reports about his behavior from across the sea. One incident in particular sticks in this old memory, I must say.”

Nathaniel’s face was already twisting in an amused but resigned smile. “I have a feeling I know which story this is.”

“It was at the Grand Tourney in Tantervale,” Samuel began, voice deepening with a storyteller’s flair. “You’ve heard of it, I’m sure.”

“Nope,” Sigrun said. “But I can guess. They have something similar back where I’m from. So what happened at this Grand Tourney?” 

“Well, as the story goes,” Samuel said, “young Master Howe joined in the grand melee, where he fought with the skill and bravery of a seasoned warrior twice his age, defeating many a roguish opponent before he was tragically brought down.”

Nathaniel muffled a cough behind his hand. “In truth, I lasted only a few rounds.”

“Indeed, that’s much more believable.” Velanna’s sharp interjection shattered the atmosphere. With a start, Sigrun realized it was the first time she had spoken. _That_ was unusual. Velanna was typically quick to share her opinions on everything—the more cutting, the better. 

“I would be surprised to learn you excelled at a contest in hand-to-hand combat,” Velanna went on, archly. “Since your skill lies with the bow and arrow, does it not? Staying far back, out of harm’s reach.” 

Nathaniel’s lips twitched. “Oh, but keep listening. There’s more to come.”

Samuel looked uncertain, likely thrown by the tension radiating off Velanna, but at Nathaniel’s nod he settled back on his heels and continued. 

“As it happened,” he said, “his performance earned him plenty of winnings, and with him being a man, shall we say, fond of his ale, he spent many a gold coin on the finest brew in the city.” 

“Ohhh.” Sigrun leaned forward, rubbing her palms together. “A _drunk_ Nathaniel story? This ought to be even better than I thought.” 

A quick wince pinched Nathaniel’s face. “I was, perhaps, slightly inebriated. But only slightly.” 

“That he was, to be sure,” Samuel went on. “But it barely dulled his reflexes at all. As he walked along enjoying the fine tourney day and all the sights the city had to offer, he happened upon a field where an archery contest was taking place. He didn’t realize this, of course, until an arrow came sailing straight for his head.”

“Fired on purpose, no doubt,” Velanna muttered. 

“Now, if it had been anyone else,” Samuel said, either ignoring or not hearing Velanna’s interjection, “that arrow would’ve taken their head clean off. For the one who fired it was very skilled, you see. But Nathaniel saw it coming, reached out, and plucked that arrow straight from the sky mere fractions of a second before it would have skewered him right between the eyes.”

“ _What?_ ” Velanna hissed. Sigrun could almost hear the force of her jaw dropping. “That’s impossible. No one can stop an arrow with a bare hand, unless perhaps with the use of magic.” She pinned Nathaniel with a squinty glare, as though trying to discern if he’d truly been a secret mage the entire time she’d known him. 

Nathaniel grinned, just a touch sheepish. “Samuel is embellishing the story a bit, I’m afraid—which actually seems to happen every time this particular tale is told. Next time I suppose a dragon will swoop out of the sky and I’ll kill it with nothing but my belt buckle. In truth, I only dodged the arrow. My survival was more a matter of lucky timing than anything.”

Samuel gave an exaggerated sigh. “You may be a man of many talents, but your storytelling abilities could use some work, if you don’t mind me saying so. Anyway, turned out the one who fired the arrow was a lovely elf maiden, fair as a spring sunrise, with hair like spun gold and a tongue of silver. Her beauty caught Nathaniel’s eye, of course, but seein’ as though she had nearly just killed him, he was somewhat less impressed with her archery skills. So he stepped up to the firing line and challenged her to a showdown.” 

“A drunk archery contest, huh?” Sigrun chuckled, though she didn’t fail to notice Velanna had gone worryingly still beside her. “Sounds just up Nathaniel’s alley.” 

“Ah!” Samuel pointed a knowing finger at Sigrun. “But that was what made it all the more impressive. Even having enjoyed as much ale as he did, he still matched that lady elf target for target, hitting a bullseye on near every one. And in fact, she was so impressed with his performance that she left the field with him hand in hand, and they spent the remainder of the day together...but that part of the tale is best not told in polite company.” He finished with a bow and a wink. 

“Oh, really?” Sigrun looked to Nathaniel, her eyebrows scaling her forehead, a grin fighting to overtake her face. “And is _that_ part of the story embellished, too?”

Nathaniel spread his hands in an almost modest shrug, entirely shameless. “No, that part is mostly accurate. Well, he left out the bit about the toy bronto, but I suppose that wasn’t especially relevant.” 

Velanna’s teleportation spell was so sudden that Sigrun might have missed it were it not accompanied by a wordless noise of scathing disgust. She was there one moment, gone the next, only a swirl of dust and windblown leaves to mark her presence. The roots receded back into the earth with a wet, decisive snap, the sound eerily similar to an angry guard-hound latching onto an intruder’s arm. 

Samuel stumbled back a step, eyes blown wide. “What was that? Did she just—?”

“Nothing to worry about!” Sigrun darted forward to give his arm a reassuring pat. “That’s just a Velanna thing. She has a flair for the dramatic. That was a great story, by the way. Thanks for telling it.” She shot Nathaniel a sly look. “I bet Nathaniel enjoyed it, too.”

“Indeed.” Nathaniel clasped Samuel’s shoulder, quick but firm. “That day is one of my fondest memories, and I always enjoy hearing it re-told. Thank you, Samuel.” 

Yet even as he spoke, Sigrun noticed his eyes stray back down the trail toward the Keep.

* * *

It was infuriating that even more than a year removed from her clan and from Ilshae, Velanna kept falling back on the Keeper’s old bits and pieces of advice, echoing back and forth in the most unwelcome chambers of her mind. 

_Sit in a quiet place,_ the memory of Ilshae’s voice intoned, just as smooth and tranquil as it had been in life. _Look at the trees. Listen to the birdsongs. Focus on the world around you rather than on your inner turmoil. Let your anger and your troubles recede to the background. You must learn to achieve calm, Velanna, or you will never succeed as a Keeper._

Velanna made a disgruntled noise, starting deep in her chest, pushing its way up to her throat, already worked raw and sore with her usual assortment of growls and scoffs. She ignored the twinge of exacerbated pain. 

How typical, she thought, that Ilshae’s instructions proved just as useless now as they had then. 

She tucked her legs beneath her and leaned forward, peering through the battlements, watching a flock of chickens as they scattered across the courtyard. They were far enough below her that she could just barely hear their contented clucks as they feasted on the servants’ far-flung handfuls of corn. 

This, she thought grudgingly, was the one good thing about the Keep. For all its strange human construction, she could at least appreciate the way the battlements soared far above the main levels, muting all the irritating human hustle and bustle below. If she could find no peace from her thoughts, she could at least withdraw to a quiet, secluded area where no one else would ever disturb her.

Well. _Almost_ no one else. 

She heard Nathaniel’s footsteps long before she saw him—a deliberate move on his part, she suspected. Stealth was supposed to be his strong suit, after all. She ground her teeth and faced stubbornly forward, watching the stupid chickens who were oblivious to all but the food shoveled in their faces. She almost envied them. 

“What do you want?” she snapped as soon as the footsteps stopped, then huffed an aggravated sigh, half at herself and half at him. She’d meant to ignore him, but somehow that never quite seemed to work out for her.

“How did you even know I was here, anyway?” she barreled on, denying him a chance to answer the first question. 

He was quiet a moment before answering, as though weighing his words. Velanna suppressed another scoff. _Ilshae would have loved him._

“Sometimes I walk the battlements in the evening,” he finally said, still behind her. She kept facing forward, listening, but not looking. “Just to make sure everything is as it should be. I’ve seen you here, a few times, so I thought I might find you here. At the end of the day, we’re all creatures of habit, I suppose.”

“So we are,” she shot out. “And apparently _you_ have made a habit of attempting to seduce elf women. I see how it is, now.”

The battlements creaked as he took a step closer, and Velanna finally turned to face him, her shoulders tingling. _Never turn your back on someone you don’t trust,_ Ilshae’s voice whispered. There was a command she could easily follow.

She tried to ignore the hollow pang deep in her chest, a lingering ache from the part of her that, entirely without her permission, had already begun to trust Nathaniel. 

“You see how it is?” Nathaniel echoed. He stopped a respectable distance from her, sitting crosslegged on the battlements’ floor. “And how is that, exactly?”

“Oh, isn’t it obvious?” Velanna waved an impatient hand. “It’s a game to you, isn’t it? You outmaneuvered that elf girl from the story with all your—your smooth talking ways, and now you’re trying to do the same to me. With—” She swallowed, and a slow wave of heat crept up her neck. “You calling me _pretty_ , and all of those other things you said. And I suppose there have been Mythal knows how many others in between her and me.”

“In truth?” Nathaniel said. “Not that many.”

Velanna scoffed. “And why should I believe you?”

He regarded her steadily. “Have I ever given you reason not to?”

She clicked her tongue and said nothing.

After a moment, Nathaniel sighed. “I can understand your concern,” he said. “There are, unfortunately, no small number of people in my position who _would_ , as you said, make a game out of using or mistreating others. But I am not one of them. I know,” he added as Velanna’s eyes flashed, “you’re unused to humans treating you with honesty. I suppose I can’t expect you to take me at my word. But I hope with time, my words will be borne out by my actions.”

He looked across the battlements at her, the twilight falling on his small smile. “And for what it’s worth,” he said, “in that story Samuel told, I was twenty-two, and drunk, and it lasted for all of one afternoon. None of those things are true now.”

“Give it time,” Velanna heard herself say, thickly. “Back when I was with my clan, I used to overhear the Keeper saying I would drive her to drink someday.”

“Then she was sadly misguided.” Nathaniel rose and bowed at the waist, his eyes softening. “Good night, Velanna.”

He was almost to the door when the words came tumbling out of her: “You don’t have to go. I suppose. If you don’t want.” 

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he paused, and it was just enough to see a look of surprised pleasure ripple across his face. 

“If you don’t mind,” he said, and turned back. This time he sat a little bit closer, their fingers almost near enough to touch. 

They sat together in comfortable silence, watching the sun sink beneath the battlements.


End file.
